


I Forget Where We Were

by mrs_puff



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope, Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars RPF
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, RPF, Recreational Drug Use, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-07
Updated: 2016-02-11
Packaged: 2018-05-18 15:59:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 9,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5934310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrs_puff/pseuds/mrs_puff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mark Hamill and Harrison Ford are in London for summer to film Star Wars. It'd be fun, if it weren't for Harrison's recent separation from his wife, Mark's major doubts about his acting skills, and the whispers on set that the film's going to be a massive flop. And to top it off, Mark's pretty sure Harrison despises him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This story is totally, completely made up, and I do not intend for anyone to interpret any part of this story as true.
> 
> (Title from a beautiful song by Ben Howard.)

_Mark_

Mark wasn’t having a great day.

He’d flown into London from Tunisia two nights ago. He’d fallen asleep after lunch yesterday, exhausted from days of filming in the desert. They’d all struggled to deliver their lines against strong winds stinging with sand, and the days had been long under the harsh sun. He’d woken this morning to his alarm beeping, and realised he’d slept twenty hours and forgotten to go over his lines for the day.

Which meant that now he found himself standing in a fake cockpit staring out at a blue screen beside Harrison, Alec, and Peter, and repeatedly fucking up the pivotal scene of their approach to the Death Star.

He kept getting the same stupid line wrong. He was painfully aware that he had about half as many lines as Harrison and Harrison hadn’t faltered once. Helen, the script lady, had to come over and show the script to him twice.

‘It’s ‘in a big hurry,' not 'quickly’, and ‘identify,’ not ‘catch,’’ she said patiently.

He didn’t dare to look at Alec or Harrison. He didn’t know who scared him more. Alec was almost regal, unfailingly crisp and professional, and seemingly able to act in his sleep. Harrison was equally professional an actor, but much grumpier and more restless between takes, shifting in his chair and checking his watch when Mark fucked up for the third time.

Mark wanted to burrow down into the earth and start a new life as a worm.

‘It’s all right,’ Helen said kindly to him after they’d wrapped. ‘You got it in the end.’

He thought he might have been all right in the last couple of takes, but when they’d cut George had been silent, and now he felt fragile and uncertain. He wished he could talk to someone else, ask how he’d been. But Garrick, the only person he’d really made friends with in Tunisia, wouldn't be in London for another two months.

The one person he took care to avoid was Harrison. He’d seen the look he’d shot Mark, as they wrapped for lunch: pure disdain.

 

_Harrison_

It was easier, in London, to pretend everything was fine.

To forget that his home in LA was now an empty, cold studio apartment, which was still missing a dining table and microwave.

It was not so easy to stop worrying about Ben and Will.

He’d moved out of his former home just a couple weeks before he’d flown out to London. It must have seemed to the kids as though his long absence was somehow related to him and Mummy not loving one another any more, a punishment through exile.

‘I love you so much,’ he’d said over and over to each of them, trying to explain that after July they’d get to see each other all the time, but for the next three months he had to go play a hero.

‘That’s exciting, huh? I’m going to shoot evil space aliens.’

‘But they might shoot you too, Daddy,’ said Will, and he had to explain they would just be imaginary aliens. It was hard to ignore Mary standing there, tapping her shoe; the kids were late for some play-date.

‘You’re half an hour late,’ she’d hissed when he’d shown up at the door to what used to be his house, standing blocking his way with arms crossed and a blank, cold face. Their new puppy, the one they’d bought the boys as a pathetic kind of compensation for their parents’ break-up, had been barking violently as if he was an intruder.

‘You’ll come and stay with me lots of weekends, once I’m back from shooting,’ he told the boys. ‘And maybe, who knows, maybe Mommy will bring you over to visit me in London for a couple weeks.’

He’d waited to bring this up in front of the kids. It was an underhand move, sure, but he knew getting the idea in Ben and Will’s heads might be his only shot at seeing them over the next three months, if he didn’t get time off.

‘Oh, for God’s sake, Harrison,’ she said. ‘We have to _go now,_ boys. Say goodbye to Daddy.’ And she’d tugged them out the door, and two days later he’d flown to London to shoot some ridiculous scene with a giant talking dog.

They wrapped for lunch. He glanced at Mark, who’d fluffed his lines repeatedly today. Maybe his heart wasn’t in this either.

 _What the hell am I doing here?_   he thought.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: marijuana use

_ Mark _

Mark, Alec and Harrison were sitting around a table in a dingy little cafe, doing an unofficial script read-through. Back in LA, over a very awkward lunch at a Chinese place (George was a genius, but he wasn't great at small talk), George'd told the actors that they didn’t need a table-read, or any rehearsals. Harrison and Alec had strongly disagreed, and they’d recruited Mark to practise with them in their time off.

Mark hoped the recruitment had nothing to do with his screw-ups the other day.

Carrie breezed in while they were midway through. She’d been sleeping in her room all day, having come to London a week later than everyone else. Mark hadn’t seen her since the auditions. He was reminded of how tiny and perfect she was, with wonderful, dark, long-lashed eyes.

She sat down beside Harrison, smiling up at him. He smiled back at her uncharacteristically, the spark between them obvious. _Great,_ Mark thought. Playing third wheel to the flirting of these two human gods until July was going to be great for his self-esteem.

Carrie was great as Princess Leia, regal and steely-eyed. And Harrison barely had to act to channel Han Solo’s effortless charm. Mark tried to embody Luke: young, sheltered, cocky, innocent. But he kept feeling off, like the character was slipping off him.

Harrison began to laugh at one point during the closing scene, looking over at Carrie’s script.

‘What is it?’ said Alec, mildly irritated. He treated acting of any kind as a holy ritual, even a read-through in a cafe. Mark was inclined to allow him this quirk, considering he was one of the best actors he'd ever seen.

‘She’s changed “Leia is staggeringly beautiful” to just “Leia is staggering,”’ Harrison said, shaking his head at her. ‘You’re quite the young wit.’

‘All right, let’s go from the top once more,’ said Alec, unsmiling.

The lines were like pebbles in Mark's mouth. He’d tried to talk to George for advice, after he’d fluffed his scene the other day. The only thing George’d said to him was:

‘The _lines_ aren’t Luke Skywalker, Mark. It’s you, Mark Hamill, who’s Luke Skywalker.’

But Mark Hamill was just some mediocre television actor trying to pretend he knew what he was doing.

 

_Harrison_

At first Harrison didn’t spend much time with any of the other actors. He didn't usually fit in with the general acting population, not being a huge talker or one for theatrics. He thought Mark and Carrie seemed nice – both serious about doing a good job, at least – but they were ten and fifteen years younger than him respectively, and he couldn't imagine they'd have much in common.

He spent most of his time hanging around with George, whose brooding introversion he’d gotten used to during American Graffiti, as well as a few other bigwigs in the production team. He felt that this was the strategic place to make friends, even if their conversations were often dry and dull, mostly in-depth discussions of production details and technical issues.

One day, shooting was halted 'for at least an hour' owing to yet another tech malfunction of some kind. Carrie produced a bag of weed and danced away into a props room, beckoning to Harrison and Mark. And Harrison decided maybe now was the time to get to know his co-stars a little better.

They locked the door and Harrison crashed down on a pile of costumes. Mark and Carrie tumbled down on either side of him. Carrie began to roll three joints.

‘I nicked some food, too,’ she said, shoving a plastic bag at Harrison.

Getting stoned in a roomful of props with plastic cups of orange juice and a packet of Jaffa Cakes was a new experience.

After a joint and a half, Harrison realised Jaffa Cakes were the best food ever invented. He shoved three into his mouth, ignoring Carrie's indignant, 'Steady on, greedy!' Then he found a Wookiee head and stuck it on Mark.

‘Hey, ready-made hothouse,’ said Mark, unfazed, and took a long drag through the jaws.

Soon Harrison was in a Stormtrooper helmet and Carrie, after searching around determinedly for some time, was Darth Vader.

After about an hour, no one had come to find them yet. Carrie was singing dreamily to herself inside her Darth Vader helmet; Harrison had removed his own helmet in order to half-close his eyes, trying to glimpse his eyelashes; and Mark was telling them, in a voice that had slowed to a crawl, that he thought they were both very beautiful, so much so that he sometimes wondered if, like, they had been grown from a petri dish in a lab or something.

‘You’re gorgeous stoned, Mark,’ Carrie said to him. ‘It’s like you’ve reached the zenith of happiness. Whereas you,’ she said, flicking Harrison on the arm, ‘are like a big hunk of concrete.’

‘Well, concrete’s my spirit animal.’

‘Ooh,’ said Mark. ‘Spirit animals. Let’s do those.’

‘You’re a labrador puppy,’ said Carrie to Mark.

‘Can’t I be a hawk?’

‘No. You’d be an embarrassment to the species.’

‘I think he’s a seal,’ said Harrison appraisingly.

‘Ugh. Whatever. Carrie?’

‘Oh, Carrie’s a panther, for sure.’

‘Reouw,’ said Carrie placidly. ‘And Harrison, you’re absolutely a Bernese mountain dog.’

‘No, he’s gotta be an arctic wolf,’ said Mark. ‘Cos he’s so – damn – _cool_.’ Harrison kicked him.

They were all right, these two, he thought dazedly as he stared at the light playing on the green metal of some discarded droid. Had a sense of humour at least. And they seemed pretty down-to-earth, as far as actors went. 

Maybe he'd stop avoiding them as much.


	3. Chapter 3

_Mark_

The following Sunday, Mark, Carrie and Harrison were wandering through London in a light, grey drizzle.

Filming was still not improving. Today they’d been shooting the swamp scene for the third day running. Their acting never seemed to be good enough, but George wouldn’t tell them what was wrong. Mark knew it was him.

‘Some spring,’ Carrie said moodily. She said her parents had brought her here dozens of times, and she seemed unimpressed with the city, which was admittedly rather dirty and grey.

But Mark had never been anyplace in Europe. And, as it turned out, Harrison had never been outside of the States. So they were both staring around a lot, fascinated by everything from the narrow brick houses to the red phone boxes. It was nice to have someone to share the feeling with.

In Hyde Park, Mark was entranced by the swans on the Serpentine. Carrie told him they all belonged to the Queen.

‘That’s not true,’ he said suspiciously.

‘Yes it is,’ she said, smiling in her cryptic way.

He turned to Harrison for confirmation, but Harrison’s attention had now been captured by a double decker bus.

‘Hey, sweet ride,’ he said, fumbling through the coins in his pocket.

Both Mark and Carrie had come to be somewhat in awe of Harrison, who was aloof, smooth-talking and never seemed to slip up. Mark thought Carrie had a crush on him, from the way she always laughed at his jokes. But she was more comfortable by Mark’s side, elbowing him and making witty comments. He loved her company; she was beautiful, and incisive, and funny, and she smelled like jasmine.

They followed Harrison onto the bus and they all went up the stairs and sat right at the front. Up here it felt like they were flying over the road. They talked light-hearted nonsense. Carrie showed them highly convincing imitations of George and Alec, perfect down to the mannerisms. She and Mark teased Harrison for the way all the make-up and hair ladies were beginning to fight over him in the mornings.

Then, as they usually did, they fell to discussing the film.

‘It’s going to bomb,’ said Harrison. ‘No doubt about it.’

Carrie nodded, looking dark.

‘It’s not going to bomb,’ said Mark placatingly. ‘It’s a beautiful story.’

‘Well, it might do ok with the five-to-seven age bracket,’ said Harrison. ‘Hey, that’s Trafalgar Square, isn’t it?’ His face lit up as it had when they’d passed Big Ben and Tower Bridge. It was unexpected, but nice, to see him smile so much.

‘It’s like being in the books,’ Mark said.

‘Yeah, and the movies,’ said Harrison.

Carrie rolled her eyes. ‘It’s like being in England.’

They were quiet for some time, simply looking out. The bus finished its circuit and started again. Mark thought he could stay doing this, looking out the windows as scenery and people floated past, for hours and hours.

‘Are your wife and kids coming over at any time, Harrison?’ Carrie asked.

‘Huh? Oh, maybe,’ said Harrison, seeming distracted. ‘Hey, that’s the Globe Theatre!’

 

_Harrison_

Some part of him felt he had to prove it to himself, during these three months, that he could be responsible and upright. 

That he could be a good father.

That meant not too much alcohol or weed, no hard drugs, and no flings. Avoiding flings wouldn't be hard, seeing as his flirting skills had grown incredibly rusty over twelve years. It was easy to avoid the other vices so far, given that he knew almost no one in London with which to have a wild party, and he was increasingly spending most of his time with just four people: George and Gary (who, Harrison thought privately, wouldn't know a party if it bit them in the ass) and his two co-stars.

Carrie, obviously, was gorgeous, and he'd come to think she was a fantastic person, too. For a nineteen-year-old she was self-possessed and quick-witted. But the fact remained she was a nineteen-year-old, and there was a gulf between them too wide to cross. She was carefree, giddy, and crazy about boys and partying. He was a soon-to-be-divorced father of two.

Mark was only slightly older, twenty-four: still a kid too, really. Single, free of responsibilities, optimistic, full of energy and ideals; Harrison could see exactly why George had chosen him for Luke Skywalker. He was a pretty cute blond thing, all right, and he spoke his lines so genuinely.

Harrison found his enthusiasm grating. The day Norman and Leslie had walked them through the newly-built sets, gleaming and ethereal, Mark had talked all afternoon about everything.

‘And the _Millenium Falcon!'_ he'd said, looking wide-eyed from Harrison to Carrie. 'I can’t _believe_ they built a life-size Millenium Falcon!’

Then he was so _distressed_ when he found out they were going to rub dirt in everything and hack at R2D2 with a saw, or something. To add gritty realism to their children’s movie about flying space aliens.

‘To make it less _in-your-face,_ George said. But I mean, it seems like such a waste of money,’ Mark said glumly. ‘Reggie’s real upset.’ Harrison had no idea who Reggie was, probably the guy who painted fake screws onto the ships or something. Mark, for reasons unknown to Harrison, seemed to’ve undertaken the pointless exercise of befriending half the nobodies in the crew.

‘Do we get to throw George out a window too?’ said Carrie, lighting a cigarette. ‘He’s in my face all the time.' She assumed a George Lucas expression and hunched her shoulders. '“ _Faster! More urgent!”'_

Mark’s misery and Carrie’s jokes were interfering with Harrison’s train of thought. He stood and stalked off.

‘What’s bitten him?’ he heard Mark say.

‘Probably thought this trip was s’posed to be holiday from babysitting,' Carrie said, sounding amused.


	4. Chapter 4

_Mark_

Mark knew Harrison’s favourite haunt in London, a little pub with dark teak floors, red leather couches, and a fireplace which was always lit even on sunny days, making it feel more sauna than pub sometimes. He wandered over there to look for Harrison.

And there he was, sitting with a beer, staring out the window.

‘Mind if I sit down?’

‘Go on,’ said Harrison indifferently. Mark ordered himself a pint. They chatted about the day's shooting. Harrison said he’d been happy with how it had gone. ‘Same,’ Mark lied.

‘Are you all right?’ Mark asked finally. ‘You’ve been seeming a little off and I just wanted to check…’

‘Yeah,’ said Harrison. ‘I’m fine.’

They had another beer each, speaking little, both looking out at the temperamental sky.

'So,' said Harrison finally, 'how're you finding the Brits?'

‘They say less,’ said Mark. 'They're more comfortable with silence than we are.'

‘Speaking of,’ said Harrison, ‘you’re quieter than usual. You acclimatising?’

‘You saying it’s a nice change?’ Mark grinned.

‘Well…’

‘I guess I talk too much when I get nervous,’ he said, subdued. ‘I get nervous around most people here.’

‘Most people?’

‘Yeah. George, Gary, Alec, Carrie, you… ‘

‘Me?’ said Harrison, looking pleased for some reason.

‘Yep,’ said Mark.‘You’re worst of all.'

‘Hey, I’m a puppy on the inside, Mark.’

This made Harrison remember something. He rummaged around in his wallet and took out a folded photograph.

‘Mary and I bought the boys a dog, just a couple weeks ago.’

It was a photograph of two boys, one taller with brown hair and one small and blonde, both smiling at a tiny beagle puppy.

‘These your kids?'

‘Yeah. That’s Ben – he’s eight – and that’s Willard – he’s six.’

‘You miss them?’ said Mark gently.

‘Yeah,’ said Harrison. ‘Yeah, even more’n I thought I would, actually.’

‘I bet it’d be hard,’ said Mark. ‘Being away so long.’

‘Yeah. Yeah, it’s hard,’ he said. He took a sip of his beer, and turned to look out the window.

‘Me and Mary…’ said Harrison, still looking away. ‘We’re getting a divorce.’

The look on his face when he turned back was one Mark knew. He remembered that feeling so clearly, though it was years ago now.

You didn’t know who you were any more, in those months after losing the one person you had felt was part of you. Who you’d believed would never leave you, or want to.

‘I’m sorry, Harrison,’ said Mark.

And Harrison looked at him for a while. His face was closed-off most of the time, but now there was a frank sadness in his eyes.

And he kept talking.

‘Neither of us could admit what was happening,’ he said, ‘but after five years we could hardly even manage a conversation. We’d been a golden couple, and I couldn’t handle it when things started to go wrong.

'I started to stay out late, come home when everyone was asleep. I’d see Mary sleeping, and I’d go into the kids’ rooms and look at them, and lie to myself that things weren’t so bad.

‘Then, one day, me and her, we just had this massive fight. And she said to me, I don’t think I can love you any more if you’re too cowardly even to try to work on this marriage. And I was begging her forgiveness, y'know. Saying I'd try harder. But she'd really just been saying the one thing.  _I don’t think I can love you any more.’_

‘So… so I moved out, once we both knew the marriage was over. I thought living apart would at least stop the fighting. But I think she – she hates me,’ he said. ‘For the way things got. Maybe she still loved me back when I stopped trying.’

‘Sometimes it’s easier to get over someone if you can make them the bad guy,’ said Mark softly.

Harrison looked at him then, raw helplessness and pain on his face, and Mark suddenly wanted to hug him hard and tell him it would be all right.

Instead, he went up to order two more pints.

–––

Harrison and Mark started to get along better, after that.

He started muttering a sarcastic commentary to him during their scenes together, so between that and Carrie’s jokes he had a good level of distraction. His anxiety had lessened, too. He'd been practising his lines every night and morning, and he didn't forget things as much. He still wasn't perfect, and he often felt disappointed with his own performance. He still secretly wished George would say something affirming to him, just once.

Everything else seemed to be going more smoothly. All the actors were developing a good chemistry. Most of the tech issues had been sorted out by now, making the day's shooting whiz along rapidly.

This made George happier and more relaxed. After a bit of good-natured ribbing from Harrison, George (in what at first seemed like a miracle to Mark) was starting to loosen up. Once serious and strict, he was starting to let him, Harrison and Carrie goof around between takes, pulling faces, cracking jokes and winding each other up. He even let  _them_ wind  _him_ up.

They were shooting one of the last scenes in the film, the one where Luke caught Han leaving before the Death Star attack, and Mark fluffed his line.

'Take care of yourself, Han. I guess that's, uh, one of your skills.'

'Yeah, it is,' said Harrison, 'I make a mean bubble-bath.'

No one yelled cut, so Mark kept a straight face and turned to walk away, trying to salvage the scene.

'Hey, Luke!' Harrison called after him. He turned back.

'Go _fuck_ yourself,' said Harrison, grinning, and George called 'Cut!' 

'Really?' said Mark as he took his place. Harrison winked at him.

Suddenly the Star Wars set did not seem like quite so bad a place to be.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: marijuana use

_Harrison_

Harrison can remember exactly the moment when things started to go wrong.

It started with Mark banging on his hotel door on a Friday night.

‘What?’ he called irritably.

‘Carrie’s got the _biggest_ bag of pot I have ever seen in my life,’ Mark said. ‘Come hang out.’

By that evening they were all high again in Carrie’s room, lounging on her king bed. Harrison knew he shouldn't be getting high again; he felt that he was already careening off the straight and narrow. But he needed this tonight. 

Carrie, always game for a pun, got up to put on the Stones’ new album. ‘Harrison, come dance,’ she said.

She was looking particularly gorgeous, in a long, clinging top and short shorts, but for some reason the idea of dancing with her did not excite him in the least. _You’re getting old, Ford._ He was feeling particularly bleak, and the pot seemed, rather than lifting him up, to be steeping him in the feeling.

‘Fine,’ she pouted, when he did not respond, and beckoned Mark. He came, shy but willing. He looked, Harrison noticed, quite as gorgeous as Carrie, blond fringe falling in his shy, downcast eyes, wearing a too-big white sweater. His little crush on Carrie was clear to Harrison, but Carrie always seemed oblivious.

Carrie even stoned out of her mind, was rather a consciously theatrical dancer, with lots of elaborate arm twirls. But Mark, as it turned out, danced like it came naturally. He moved to the beat almost intimately, with a glazed, blissful look. After a minute or so he closed his eyes.

Harrison watched them both lazily. As the next song began, Carrie began to try to persuade Mark to let her spin him round, and then for him to jump and her to catch him.

‘I’m strong,’ she said. ‘I work out, you know.’

‘Well, I’m heavy,’ said Mark dreamily. ‘I ate an extremely dense bagel for lunch.’

Carrie, finally, got dizzy and had to lie down, while Mark just kept dancing, eyes closed, a small smile on his face. The amber light from the ceiling lamp was pooled over him, making bright ripples in his hair. Carrie closed her eyes. Harrison kept watching.

The song ended; Mark opened his eyes and looked straight back at Harrison. Harrison, on impulse, didn’t look away. A flush spread over Mark’s face, and he ducked his head.

‘I like that song,’ he explained, looking down.

‘Harrison could catch you,’ said Carrie, belatedly, eyes snapping open. She twisted to look over at Harrison with a smug smile like she was the biggest genius on the planet. ‘Harrison, dance with Mark and he’ll jump up and you can catch him.’

Harrison stared at her for a few moments.

‘All right,’ he said finally, surprising everyone in the room. He walked over to Mark, who stared up at him bewilderedly, looking slightly afraid.

Harrison took Mark’s hands in his, and began to move his shoulders in an exaggeratedly sexy way. Mark laughed, his nose crinkling, but he didn’t join in at first.

_When I come home, baby_

_And I’ve been working all night long…_

‘Oh,’ Mark said, ‘this song is _rad_ ,’ and he began to dance, getting into it. Harrison pulled him closer, and they danced together. Mark had a dusting of freckles on his cheeks, he noticed. And his eyes were a fragile blue, like shattered agate. How had he not noticed what he _looked_ like before?

Carrie was laughing like this was the best show she’d ever seen.

_She whispers in my ear so sweet_

_You know what she says?_

Mark was hamming it up for Carrie now, biting his lip theatrically, throwing mock-flirty looks at Harrison through lowered lashes.

But the way he was dancing. It was... sensual, fluid, beautiful.

_And I go see her, sometimes_

_And we make love, so fine_

Mark had moved closer to Harrison somehow, so very close, barely an inch away – Harrison could track every slight flutter of his eyelashes – and in some kind of musical ecstasy, covered his face with his hand and let it trail down his face, mouthing the words.

_Gotta tell ya, baby_

_I’m a fool, baby_

And Harrison knew, in a rush, all that he wanted. First he wanted to run his hands over Mark’s back, down to his slim waist, to hold him tightly; then he wanted to press up against him and learn what his body felt like; then to take his hips and move them with his in time to the music; then he wanted to dip his head down to his neck and press his lips to the soft freckled skin...

_Fuuuuuck._

‘No!’ Carrie cried, as Harrison stepped back, trying to get his high-as-fuck head together. ‘You haven’t done the jump-and-catch!’

And Mark was giggling, taking a few steps back for a run-up. Harrison tried to ground himself, his head feeling like it was about to detach and float away. All right. He put his arms out.

And then there was the thump of running footsteps and a blur of flying hair and arms and Mark landed heavily in his arms. He rested his head against Harrison's shoulder and looked up at him fake-romantically with his big blue eyes. _Nope. Nuh-uh._

Harrison spun him around half-heartedly and set him down on the ground, then abruptly stalked to the bathroom.

‘Hey, what’s up with him?’ he heard Carrie say.

‘I don’t know,’ said Mark, sounding faintly hurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics from 'Fool to Cry' by the Rolling Stones.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, thanks so much for reading so far and to those who have left kudos and commented! I really appreciate it :) I've altered the story a little, so the rating is now 'Mature' for drug use and adult language.
> 
> Warning: MDMA use

_ Mark _

There was something in the way Harrison had looked at him that other night. Carrie had noticed it too.

'I think maybe Harrison's into you,' she'd slurred into his ear, after Harrison had gone back to his room and he was falling asleep on Carrie's bed.

He couldn't even begin to consider it was true. And yet he found himself thinking about Harrison a lot over the next couple weeks. Then Carrie invited them both to a party. It was a big one, with lots of British acting royalty, so even Harrison accepted, saying he knew a few people going.

At the party, Carrie led him along to sit in a group of her elegant, very hip friends. Harrison sauntered away, and immediately a couple of very beautiful women went up to him and threw their arms around his neck. 

Mark, watching them, suddenly felt… incredibly stupid. Why the fuck would he have even considered that Harrison be into _him?_ When he had people like this available? He felt like a gross, sweaty teenager with a crush. Harrison _was_ a decade older than him. A man, whereas Mark still felt like a kid. And to top it off, Harrison was… in a word...  hot. At every party they’d been to, beautiful people came up to him, wanting his attention.

Carrie nudged him, and offered him a bag of small, white pills.

‘You want one?’ she asked Mark. ‘It makes the party sooo much more fun.’

Mark hadn’t done anything harder than pot, ever, having been brought up Roman Catholic. But he could use a bit of fun for a change.

_Harrison_

This was one of the crazier showbiz parties. Music was blasting and the venue was utterly packed with very attractive, slightly sweaty people and it was crowded, claustrophobic, heady. Harrison was very drunk, but he was still managing to feel bored by this conversation, despite the fact that his companions were several extremely beautiful C-list actresses. They had spent about half an hour talking about some other, much cooler party, and name-dropping endless people he had never heard of. Harrison decided what he needed was to be drunker.

He was alone at the bar, sipping at his second scotch on the rocks, when Mark came up to him, lounging against the bar. Harrison smiled, glad to see familiar face. Mark grinned back and unexpectedly ran a hand down Harrison’s forearm, letting it rest on his hand.

_Well, this is a positive development._

‘Hey,’ he breathed, smiling. ‘I was looking for you.’

 _Wait –_ Harrison narrowed his eyes. Dilated pupils – slightly off-balance –

‘What’d you take?’

‘Huh?’ His blue eyes were un-focusing and re-focusing on Harrison.

‘Do you even _know_ what you took?’

‘Just a bit of E. Harrison, it feels _so_ good.'

‘How much?’ 

‘Just one pill.’ Harrison breathed a sigh. That was safe. And he should still be thinking relatively clearly.

Mark’s eyes widened.

‘You should take some. Come on,’ and he was tugging at Harrison’s hand.

‘Nah, I’m fine,’ said Harrison shortly.

‘But I want you to feel this good too,’ Mark whispered breathily into Harrison's ear. _Damn it,_ he thought, pulling away, and downing his whisky in one go.

‘Well, why don’t we go dance?’ he said, standing up abruptly. ‘That would make me feel pretty good.’

‘You and me?’ Mark looked confused.

‘If you like.’ Then Mark nodded, and Harrison downed his drink and led him out onto the floor, deep into the crowd of people where, he thought vaguely, they could be anonymous. The whiskey had gone straight to his head, and he carelessly pulled Mark closer and grabbed his other hand.

Mark looked utterly lost for a few seconds, barely moving.

Harrison, grinning wickedly, leaned in and raked his fingers through Mark’s hair. Mark closed his eyes and leaned into the touch.

MDMA wasn’t bad, as far as drugs went, Harrison thought, grinning. He ran his hands down Mark’s back, and Mark _shivered,_ closing his eyes, and wordlessly moved closer to Harrison.

Then he wrapped his hands around Harrison's neck, and Harrison encircled him with his arms, and they began to dance like this, bodies moving to the same rhythm.

–––

Several songs later, Mark had turned so that his back was flush against Harrison's chest, and Harrison was holding him like this, both gently swaying. Harrison was feeling almost delirious with the combined effects of strong booze and having a beautiful person in his arms for so long. 

‘You,’ he whispered, lips pressed against that blond head, ‘are _fucking – beautiful,’_ and he hadn’t exactly meant to say that out loud, but it made Mark sigh and tip his head back to lie against Harrison’s shoulder, so Harrison could see his fluttering eyelashes.

Harrison pressed a kiss to Mark’s temple, slow and lingering, and Mark sighed

‘You think I’m beautiful?’ he said, eyes wide and hopeful, mouth slack and soft. God, he wanted to kiss that mouth.

‘Everyone thinks you’re beautiful, you fuckin’ idiot,’ he said.

And he leaned down and kissed him hard. Mark responded enthusiastically, turning around to face him and wrapping his arms around Harrison's neck to pull him down. 

_Shit. What if someone sees?_

Harrison pulled away, making Mark give a little, indignant whine, opening his eyes and looking lost. His face was flushed and he looked incredibly out of it.

 _Fuck, fuck, fuck._ What the hell had they been doing, making out in a crowd of people? Not to mention the dubious morality of getting with someone who was midway through their first ecstasy trip.

‘Ah,’ he said, awkwardly, ‘You know what, actually, you probably need some ice water or something, you’re pretty hot.’

‘What a line,’ said Mark, grinning drowsily.

‘I’ll be back soon,’ Harrison promised, heading off into the crowd.

Holding two pint glasses of ice water, Harrison went back to where he had left Mark. He wasn’t there. He searched through the crowd, but Mark was nowhere to be seen.

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: MDMA use/side effects

_Harrison_

After some time searching fruitlessly, he tried the bathrooms.

There was a kind of entrance room before the bathrooms themselves, there on the floor was Mark, head lolling against the wall, face still very flushed.

‘Hey, buddy. You all right?’ His voice echoed in the tiled room.

‘I’m so hot, Harrison,’ he murmured. ‘I feel really –’ and then his chest heaved, and he clamped his mouth shut.

‘All right,’ said Harrison, knowing from many nights of experience where this was going. He put his hands in Mark’s underarms and heaving him to his feet. ‘Come on.’

He was faintly worried, despite his cavalier tone, and once he had got Mark into a toilet cubicle he pressed a hand to his forehead. He was feverish, definitely hotter than he should be. He did not have time to address this, though, because Mark began vomiting violently into the toilet.

‘Oh, bud,’ he sighed, trying to keep Mark’s hair back. Once Mark’d stopped, gasping for breath, Harrison began to massage his back.

‘I’m sorry,’ Mark said, looking up at him, soft eyes brimmed full with post-throw-up tears.‘You don’t have to stay, you should go back to the party –’

Harrison, ignoring this, knelt to the ground and passed him a glass of water.

‘Wet your face and neck with this,’ he said. ‘We need to cool you down. And if you feel like you’re done hurling, then start taking sips. You’re gonna be dehydrated as fuck.’

Mark threw up once more after that, then. Harrison rubbed his back a while longer, giving reassuring responses to Mark’s repeated sorries.

Finally Mark lay against the wall looking exhausted, and began to sip his water.

Harrison touched his forehead again. ‘You’re still too hot,’ he said. ‘I’m taking you outside, c’mon.’

Outside it was chilly and Mark began to shiver, which Harrison thought probably wasn’t good, so he gave Mark his leather jacket. It was far too big for him. He looked pretty adorable in it, looking up at him with big lost eyes.

But he already looked better with the fresh air, and he’d kept down the whole pint of water. Harrison took a piece of gum and gave Mark one.

‘How you feeling?’ he said after a while.

‘Much better,’ said Mark, smiling tiredly back at him. Harrison felt his forehead once more – it was cool. ‘So,’ Mark said, ‘you can go if –’

‘Are you not enjoying my company, or something?’ said Harrison, grinning. ‘It’s hard to think of witty repartees when I’m frantically trying to keep your hair out of your puke, you know.’

‘No!’ said Mark. ‘But – come on – there are all those people you know in there…’

‘Yeah, and there’s just us out here,’ said Harrison, leaning closer to brush some of Mark’s hair from his sweaty face. ‘Hey, can I kiss you?’

‘Why would you want to kiss me _now_?’ he said, twisting his mouth, as if Harrison was an utterly perplexing phenomenon. ‘You’ve just been watching me vomit into a toilet.’

‘You’ve had a whole pint of water and some gum since,’ said Harrison reasonably.

Mark stared at him with furrowed eyebrows.

So Harrison answered his question honestly.

'I like kissing you,' he said. 'It makes me happy.' 

He lifted his head to look frankly into Mark’s eyes and Mark kissed him immediately. Harrison grinned into the kiss. 

He took Mark home no longer than half an hour later. He left him in bed with a glass of water on his bedside table, looking utterly angelic, apart from the slight hickey at the base of his neck.


	8. Chapter 8

_Mark_

They'd been dating for over three weeks now.

It had been... really nice. They'd been watching films at Harrison's place (he'd got sick of the crappy hotel room and rented out an apartment with a big television set), going to dance in clubs and making out (Harrison did not seem like the dancing type, and when Mark asked him about this he said no, he wasn't, but he liked dancing with Mark) and going on long bus rides to see as much of London as they could, playing stupid games of Would You Rather and Two Truths, One Lie (it turned out Harrison had a twisted and surprisingly creative imagination).

On Mondays, Mark would look for Harrison the second he walked onto set. Today he was standing right by the door, looking aloof and handsome.

‘Hey,’ he said, hopping up to him. ‘How’re you?’

‘Oh, good,’ said Harrison distantly, looking away. ‘Hey, I, uh, I gotta go talk to Gary for a bit, all right?’

Mark felt a twinge of doubt, but he let it go.

He felt like he was acting better than usual today; they were on their second day of shooting the scene of Leia's rescue from the Death Star, and Mark felt like he was channeling Luke’s childish bravado, now that he understood the character better.

But George seemed even more indifferent than usual. And he wasn't imagining things. Between takes Harrison would look away, talking to Peter, Alec, anyone but him.

The day went slowly. 

Finally they wrapped. ‘I’m going to ask Harrison to get a beer,’ he told Carrie, and went over to him before he could walk away.

‘Everything all right?’ he said.

‘Yep. I, uh, I just…’ He paused.

‘Harrison,’ he said, anxiety pooling in his stomach.  ‘Just spit it out.’

‘I… I might need a bit of space for a while,’ Harrison said. ‘It’s nothing to do with you, Mark, I swear. I mean it. I’m kind of… sorting through some stuff.’

‘That’s all right,’ said Mark, trying to smile as brightly as he could.

He walked back to Carrie.

‘It’s not happening, I guess,’ he said casually.

‘I’ll get a beer with you,’ said Carrie, slipping her arm into his. He knew it was a pity beer, but he said yes.

–––

‘Mark,’ Carrie said, pulling Mark out of his reverie as he stared into his full pint glass. ‘Don’t look so sad, sweetie. He’s a jerk, forget about him.’

He looked down.

‘It was never going to last long. He’s the kind of guy who’s destined to be a movie star, and I’m…’

_No one._

‘What if the film’s a big hit?’ said Carrie. ‘Then _you’ll_ be the movie star.’

‘I used to think it might be. But more and more I just feel like... we’re bailing water on a sinking ship. The crew keep laughing at us behind our backs.’

‘I’ve heard them too,’ said Carrie. ‘Without the special effects it does seem silly sometimes.'

‘Sometimes I watch you acting, and I think that you’re too good for this. Harrison’s too good for this. But you know… I think… I’m not even good _enough_ for it. ‘

‘Oh, darling,’ she said, leaning over to hug him sidelong. He rested his head on her shoulder. ‘You’re a wonderful actor. You know how hard it is to act naive and innocent in the understated way you do? I couldn’t do it.

‘And as for being good enough for Harrison,’ she said, pulling back, and looking at him sombrely. ‘You remember that pep talk you gave me when I was hungover before my very first scene? I'd been feeling so terrible about everything, Mark, and you were the only reason I felt I could do it.

‘And you ever notice how everyone on set smiles at you in the mornings? You’ve managed to make friends with everybody. Whereas Harrison seems to think he’s above everyone and everything. You’re kind, and sweet, and so talented, Mark. You’re going to attract good things, one way or the other. Harrison’s just some puffed-up old jock who cares too much about his hair.’

Mark said nothing, remembering Harrison's hands on his back while he hurled into a toilet bowl, Harrison settling a jacket over his shoulders while he shivered on the curb. Some drunk gang member threatening them on the street and Harrison stepping in front of Mark protectively. Harrison laughing on the bus at some dumb joke he'd made and kissing his cheek.

He was being stupidly sentimental. It had barely been a month. It didn’t matter.

‘I’ll try to forget about him for a while,’ he said.

‘Good idea,' Carrie said. 'Might be hard to forget his pretty eyes, but the swollen head shouldn’t be too difficult.’

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: angst incoming!
> 
> But we're nearly there, folks. I'll be posting the final three chapters tomorrow.

_Harrison_

Harrison was dreading talking to Mark again after what he'd said. Luckily, the three central actors were getting a couple weeks off next Friday while they shot the scenes on the Death Star.

Saturday morning he'd woken two answer-phone messages from Mary. She was coming over in a week with the boys.

Although their marriage was indisputably finished, he'd found over the weekend that he suddenly could not stop thinking about her. When Mark had come up to him, looking so young and hopeful with that sweet, shy smile, he'd suddenly not known if this was the right decision any more. If he shouldn't be trying harder to save his marriage.

All he wanted sometimes was to go back to how things were ten years ago. It was as if the life of someone else had been thrust upon him. Harrison Ford's life plan did not involve getting divorced in his early thirties.

–––

On set that week, Carrie was giving Harrison the cold shoulder, and giggling together with Mark on set breaks. Fine, so she’d talked to Mark about things and she was on his side. He wanted to be angry with her. But he knew what he’d done was shitty.

And yet he still couldn’t bring himself to talk to Mark.

That didn’t seem to matter, however, because over the course of the week Mark increasingly seemed… different, somehow. Happier. Even his acting was more focused and fluid than it had ever been. 

It almost seemed like he was better without Harrison.

Maybe it was best he stayed away.

–––

And then he was waiting at the airport terminal, and suddenly Mary was there with Will and Ben clinging to each hand.

‘Daddy!’ they both cried joyfully.

'Hey, soldiers.'

He tried to smile at Mary and she smiled back smoothly, eyes shuttered.

They all went out to dinner and spent the evening together driving around London. Ben seemed to be handling everything quite well, but Will was often fretful, and clung on to Harrison like he was about to disappear any second.

It was a strange kind of pain seeing her again. He wanted, nothing more, nothing else than return to how they had been ten years ago. And yet, now, there was an almost palpable disconnect between them. He felt that when they looked at one another, both of them were staring beyond at something else. 

And he realised it had been like that for years.

As they drove home, both the boys drifted to sleep. There was a long silence. They had nothing to say to one another any more.

'I like the red phone boxes,' Harrison offered idiotically.

‘I’ve booked a ticket to France,’ she said.

‘What? You’re leaving?’

‘You said, the other day over the phone, that you wanted to have the boys to stay. So I’ve decided that’s what we’ll do. I'm going to France, and you can have them for ten days.’

‘I don’t think we can _afford_ –’

 _‘I’m_ paying for the trip.'

‘All right,’ said Harrison, defiantly cheerful. ‘All right, that'll be fun.'

He was good at making his kids laugh and playing around with them, but he’d never had to be the responsible one. And Mary knew it.

Once she had gone, despite the comfort of the boys sleeping soundly in the next room, he began to feel more alone than ever. 

Thoughts poured in at night like a dam had broken. He'd screwed up his marriage. He'd driven Mark away. And suddenly he felt that adulthood had rushed up to greet him, while he was till the same person he had been at twenty. And life seemed to go by so fast, bringing divorces and break-ups and sadness.

He couldn't stop thinking of Mark's laughing face, of the light happiness he'd felt with him. Of all the times they'd gone after work to get fish and chips with salt and vinegar and sit by the Thames. Of watching Citizen Kane and conveniently discovering Mark was very ticklish during a particularly long, dull scene. Of just talking to him, about everything from what cats thought about, to what would define a perfect life. And then he'd screwed everything up. Like he always seemed to.


	10. Chapter 10

_Harrison_

‘Hey,’ said George over the phone a week later. Harrison was exhausted, having had the kids for seven days straight. ‘Can you come in? I want to try something out.'

‘What’s that?’

‘I’ve had a new idea for the final scene.’

‘Can I bring my kids?’

So he, Mark and Carrie were dressed up and paraded up and down the hall for a while while Ben and Will watched. Carrie was still cold as ice. Mark was polite and friendly to him, as much as if Harrison’d been some stranger on the street. Harrison was finding their interactions increasingly painful.

The kids were having the time of their lives, pretending to fight with light-sabers (this was a game they'd all been playing lately) until George ordered a costume girl to take them into another room, which made Carrie give him the evil eye. Carrie had a thing about men assuming women were care-givers, or something.

Even when he tried to catch Mark's eye to share a grin when George asked them to 'look more intensely happy,' Mark didn't seem to see him.

 _So?_ he thought angrily, realising pathetic emotion was probably written all over his face. _You blew it with your fling. Toughen up, for pity’s sake._

When they broke for lunch, Carrie immediately lounged over Mark’s shoulders and pulled him away from Harrison, whispering into his ear.

And then after lunch, she was being almost suspiciously friendly to him.

‘I now pronounce you man and wife,’ Carrie announced in one take as they came to stand before her, causing George to sigh and Mark to stifle giggles.

And then George showed them the footage and asked if they thought it worked. Carrie was enthusiastic, but Harrison couldn’t tell if she was joking. She seemed to have totally checked out of the film, assuming it would flop. Mark was uncertain, and Harrison told George it was pure shit, but George had developed a Harrison filter by this point.

When they’d finished, Carrie suggested they all go out for a beer, but Harrison jerked his head at the room where the kids were.

‘Oh, I forgot,’ she said. ‘How about a picnic?’

–––

They sat in Hyde Park under a massive elm tree by the lake with baguettes and wheels of cheese, and Carrie poured all the adults plastic cups of wine.

Harrison was distracted. Will was asleep in his lap, probably tired from running around on set. Harrison cuddled him and buried his head in his hair. _I’ve fucked everything up. I always fuck everything up._ Mark was right there, but he felt inaccessible, like part of a history that no longer belonged to Harrison.

He felt – paralysed, stuck. He wondered if this was just his life now.

Carrie was dipping her baguette in her wine before chucking it to the swans. Mark was chatting to Ben. Will woke up and decided to help Carrie feed the swans. So Harrison decided he would go for a short walk, to get his head straight.

He came back and Carrie was gone. Mark was alone with the boys.

He was running around with them. Harrison stopped to watch, still partly hidden by the elm's branches. They were playing some kind of Star Wars-related game – Mark, lumbering towards them, was bellowing, ‘Darth Vader will get his revenge,’ and Ben was pretending to hit him with a light saber.

Will, not exactly sure of the specifics but enjoying all the running and shouting, kept on trying to squirt Mark with his water bottle, and once he got him square in the eye. Mark, rising to the occasion as their star actor ought, groaned heart-rendingly and fell to the ground.

‘Oh, you have vanquished the mighty Darth Vader!’ he moaned, clutching his eye. ‘There go my chances at the super-villain beauty contest.'

Will, giggling uncontrollably, ran at him, making to jump on top of him. Harrison winced – this was a pretty hard hit Darth Vader was going to take after already losing an eye – but Will tripped and skidded, falling on his face. Up rose a whining, rising bawl. Harrison began to jog over.

But Mark had gotten to his feet, and picked Will up in his arms. He didn’t notice Harrison approaching.

‘Oh, hey. Hey there, that was a pretty rough fall, wasn’t it? You’re all right though, aren’t you? You’re the mighty Jedi Warrior, remember. You’ve got magic powers, didja know?’

‘Do I?’

‘You do,’ said Mark.

‘Don’t go turning my kid into some Wiccan, Mark.’

Mark jumped a little. ‘Oh. Hey. Here’s Daddy,’ he said to Will, and Will looked around with a tearful face. Harrison took him from Mark’s arms.

‘You’re fine, aren’t you? Just playing it up so you’d get a hug from Mark.’ Riskily, he added, ‘I understand the temptation,’ and glanced at Mark with an uncertain half-grin.

Mark rolled his eyes.

‘You’re good with them,’ said Harrison quietly. This time he got a smile.

‘Oh, y’know. With six siblings growing up, you get pretty used to looking after ‘em,’ he said.

‘You wanna come to the beach with us tomorrow?’ said Harrison suddenly.

Mark looked at him warily, but then relaxed.

‘All right.’


	11. Chapter 11

_Mark_

Mark turned up at Harrison's apartment at ten. Harrison emerged with one kid on his back and another one clinging to his arm. He was smiling wearily.

He rested the smaller boy on the ground and the two kids looked shyly at Mark, in that way kids had of growing shy all over again after a day.

‘Hey,’ said Mark, breaking into a smile and crouching down. ‘I just ran into some aliens.’

‘Where?’ said Will.

‘They gave me this alien candy here, see.’ He dug in his pocket and held out a bag of flying saucers. The kids took them and looked at Mark with glowing faces.

Harrison was appalled. ‘Jesus, Mark. Stop with this child-whispering stuff. They’re gonna beg you to adopt them off me any second.’

At the beach, the kids ran off to play in the spray, and Mark went to follow them, but Harrison touched his shoulder.

‘Hey,’ he said.

‘Hey.’

‘Um,’ said Harrison. Mark had never seen him lost for words like this before. He was enjoying it. ‘Thanks. For coming today.’

‘No problem,’ said Mark, amused. ‘You know I only came to hang out with your kids, right? So can we make this conversation quick so I can go paddle?’

‘Oh… yeah, sure.’

‘I’m _kidding,_ ’ said Mark, concerned. ‘Are you ok?’

‘Yeah, I’m fine. Um, well,’ he rubbed his neck, ‘I just wanted to say sorry. For… for –’

Mark laughed. ‘You don’t need to apologise. It actually helped me, I think. Carrie said breaking up with you improved my acting more than a hundred acting lessons would.'

Harrison didn't seem pleased to hear that. 'What role has Carrie had to play in this?’

‘Oh, she’s just protective. But then she thought you seemed sad without me, and after seeing you with your kids I guess she decided you weren't so bad after all, so she decided to play, uh, rematch-maker.'

'So it really helped you, spending less time with me?' Harrison said petulantly. 

‘Yeah, well. I guess I just needed to find my own balance. To focus on what felt right for me, not about impressing anyone else.’

‘Sounds like I need to take some lessons from you,’ Harrison muttered, and Mark laughed.

‘Only Cary Grant could teach you anything, Mr. Sex Appeal,' he said. Apparently sex appeal had been one of the producers' main reasons for hiring Harrison, which Mark and Carrie found hilarious.

‘I was having a tough time,’ Harrison said. ‘When we got together. I was… I hadn’t dealt with the split from Mary properly. I realised I wasn’t ready to plunge into anything without sorting things out in my head first.’

‘No one was asking you to _plunge into_ anything,’ said Mark, vaguely affronted.

‘I know you weren’t,’ said Harrison, ‘but when you’ve been married for eleven years… it’s hard to take any kind of relationship lightly. Even if it is… so much damn fun with you, Mark. I mean, _Jesus._ ’

Mark grinned at that, but then the kids ran back over before he could say anything else.

‘Who wants ice creams?’ Harrison called out, and the kids _screamed,_ ear-splittingly screamed, until Harrison shouted ‘Shut up!’ over the top.

‘You’re scaring Mark!’ he said, and Mark stared at them all, faintly shell-shocked.

‘Family thing. Scream for ice creams…’

Mark got raspberry ripple, Harrison and Ben got chocolate, and Will got vanilla which he promptly dropped on his pants.

‘Aw geez,’ said Harrison. ‘Let's go clean you up in the washrooms. Ah, hey,’ he added to Mark. ‘I know this must be kinda... boring for you. Don’t feel you need to stick around.’

But Mark wanted to stick around.

They spent the afternoon building sandcastles together, and looking for shells in the sand, and then lying with half-closed eyes in the faint, scattering, cloud-chased sunlight while the boys tried to out-run the waves.

It was so strange seeing this side to Harrison, Mark thought as he lay there, this kind of harried, careful, anxious, loving side. A side he guessed Harrison didn’t let most people see.

They drove back, and on the way home, with the sun going down and the night crisping to black at the edges, Harrison reached his hand over and rested it on Mark’s, glancing at him cautiously. Mark smiled and turned his palm up, curling his fingers around Harrison’s.

 


	12. Chapter 12

_One month later_

_Mark_

At seven a.m. on a Saturday, Mark’s phone rang, jolting him awake.

‘You know,’ he said over the phone, yawning, ‘not everyone wakes up at an ungodly hour to run six hundred miles.’

‘Hey, last night you said you wanted a wake-up call.’

‘Did I not specify that it had to be a normal-human hour?’ 

‘I’ll let you sleep, then. If you promise to come over tonight.’

‘Hm,’ said Mark. ‘Depends. You got any good movies?’

‘Hundreds.’

‘Ice cream?’

‘I got everything you need, Mark,’ Harrison said impatiently. ‘Come over, and I’ll show you.’

_Harrison_

But they didn’t end up watching any movies.

When it was very late, they went for a drive out towards Maidenhead, speeding through the countryside with the windows down, blaring _All Day and All of the Night_  out to the astonished sheep and cows, laughing and talking about everything in the world.

They found a spot to park and looked out at the twinkling lights of the town reflecting in the wide, still river. Harrison wrapped his arm around Mark’s shoulders, and Mark smiled up at him.

This couldn’t last. It wouldn’t. Harrison was still married. Mark was so young.

‘Hey,’ said Harrison. ‘So what are we doing, you reckon?’

He hated to be the person to ask this question, knew if he’d been fifteen years younger he wouldn’t have questioned a thing, he would have said let’s play it by ear, let’s go with the flow. But somehow he’d turned into a person who cared. Who got attached. Who didn’t want to be hurt again.

And yet, he didn’t know himself what he wanted the answer to that question to be. Some part of him knew that when they got back to LA, things would be different.

Mark shrugged, smiling. ‘I guess… we’re having fun? Seeing what happens?’

‘That’s all you want?’

‘What do _you_ want?’

Part of him wanted Mark to tell him, _I’m yours._  Another, wiser part knew they were both too independent, too different, for any such sentimental nonsense.

‘I guess it changes.’

‘I’m going out of town for six months to shoot a film, right after we get back to LA,’ said Mark.

‘Oh,’ said Harrison. ‘Right. But we could – I mean, we could maybe –’ He stopped. It was too far away for him to be talking like that. They were both silent.

‘You know,’ said Mark, ‘I think I can see what your future will be, a little bit.’

‘The Force isn’t real, bud. You know that, right?’ Mark ignored him.

‘You’re going to be a star, Harrison,’ he said, eyes shining. ‘I just – I know it. Carrie knows it. We all do.’

Harrison felt a thrill of the old, burning excitement at this. A flame that had burned in him since he was very young. _Maybe…_

‘And you’re not?’

‘No,’ Mark said quietly. ‘I don’t think so. I’ve realised… that’s not what I want, you know.’

There was silence between them.

‘So we’re what, a summer fling?’

‘More than that,’ said Mark.

‘We’ve still got two months.’

‘That’s a long time.’

Harrison didn’t know if he agreed. But there was no need to think in weeks. He'd think in moments.

_Come down to these moments now, to the eyes glinting in the streetlight, to the soft hand in your own._

It was pushing three a.m., and Mark was struggling to keep his eyes open, so they walked back to the car, and drove slowly back towards London.

 


End file.
